Twelve hours earlier:

Tim huddled over the small fire, feeding it bits of tinder slowly as he built up the flame. He'd studied topographical maps of the mountain before they'd been sent up there and had been able to locate a small cave before night, and the storm, set in. Unfortunately, he'd re-injured his ankle in the process, slowing down his progress as he'd set up an emergency camp.

Branches and the tarp from the lean-to now covered most of the entrance, blocking the wind and the snow. He'd used some of DiNozzo's left over corn chips to help start a fire, the oily snack giving enough extra heat to the flame to overcome the dampness of the small twigs and branches. McGee's coat was still wet from the earlier rain that had turned to freezing rain before becoming snow and he draped it over the metal chair he'd brought from the base camp, hoping to get it dry before he had to venture back out in the blowing snow. As the fire strengthened, he began to move rocks closer, allowing them to heat up as well. Eventually the fire was big enough to not need constant tending and he moved on to his next chore.

His teammates had cheerfully left behind the folding shovel they'd used to dig a latrine, stating that someone had to fill it in. Now Tim was grateful for the implement, almost as grateful as he was that the head scoutmaster had asked him to research a more in-depth wilderness survival program for the boys. He started digging a trench, just wide enough and long enough to lay down in. Each rock he uncovered was set aside near the fire to warm slowly, making sure they were dry, as just a little moisture in a small crack could turn a simple rock into an explosive grenade when quickly heated.

Once the trench was dug, he circled the edge with the larger of the rocks he'd collected before filling in with some of the branches he'd gathered earlier. Hardwoods were the best, but downed branches were limited, so he'd supplemented with pine. On top of that he added the rest of his tinder and the pine cones he'd found. When he'd first located the cave, he had scooped up all the dry pine needles he could reach and dumped them into the empty gas can. Now he shook out the needles on the top of his long bonfire. With any luck they absorbed enough of the gas fumes to light the fire quickly and easily. A burning twig from the first fire was touched to the oddly shaped pile and the needles quickly ignited, catching the tinder and pine cones within moments before spreading into the larger branches. He continued to add to the fire until the flames had spread to the entire trench.

Two hours later McGee shifted the hot coals around until they were fairly even and covered them with the dirt he'd set aside while digging. Carefully tamping down the dirt, he stopped when he had a several inch layer covering all the coals and settled in to wait.

As the coals warmed his firebed, Tim checked his ankle. After taking his third tumble he'd been forced to stop and create a make-shift splint. He didn't want to remove it, especially after seeing the swelling and the dark bruise that now was well above his sock. Instead, he turned his attention to the contents of his backpack. Four granola gars and one pack of trail mix were left, plus three empty water bottles. The two water bottles he'd refilled with snow earlier were still sitting near the fire, now melted and ready to be purified. There was only one package of water purification tablets, but that was enough to last several days until the storm broke. He had both a heavy survival knife and a multipurpose tool in addition to the pocketknife he always carried. His fourth blade was actually a wire survival saw and he ignored the rest of the backpack's contents for now as he started to practice using the unfamiliar device. The last few unused branches in the cave were systematically cut into pieces while he waited for his bed to warm. Once his coat was dry, he pulled it back on before laying his Mylar survival blanket over the warmed dirt and crawling into the surprisingly warm bed. Exhausted, Tim pulled the thin silver sheet around him, closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep, dreaming of his upcoming morning rescue.

-NCIS-

"Abby, are you all right?" Ziva stood in the doorway to the lab, unsure of her welcome.

"I killed my best friend, Ziva, what do you think?" Abby angrily wiped the tears off her face, smearing her make-up. "My last words... I... McGee... oh, Ziva." Breaking down again, Abby threw herself into Ziva's arms.

Even braced, Ziva stumbled backwards slightly as she found herself with an armful of crying Goth. "We must not give up hope, Abby. McGee never gave up hope when we believed Tony was killed or when I was in Somalia. Now it is our turn to keep the faith for him." Ziva pulled back and used her thumbs to wipe the smudges from Abby's cheeks. "It is the season of faith, is it not?"

"Positive thoughts?"

"Positive thoughts."

With that slight encouragement Abby resumed pacing in her lab, fingers pressed against her temples. "Positive thinking, positive thinking, McGee is waiting for Gibbs to come get him." She spun around to stare at Ziva. "Why are you guys still here? McGee's waiting for you."

The changes were making Ziva dizzy. "We have to wait for the storm to clear. The rangers have a team standing by for the smallest break and then they will get him."

"Not Gibbs? But Timmy is waiting for Gibbs."

"They are trained for dealing with a storm like this, Gibbs is not. None of us are."

"But..."

"Positive thoughts, they will be ready to move in at the first sign of the storm lessening. Christmas will be here soon. McGee will be back with us and making Tony wait on him hand and foot."

"And I will." Both women looked up at Tony as he stood, eyes bright, watching them. Abby held out a hand and he quickly joined them, burying his face in Abby's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It wasn't supposed to happen like this, Abby. We passed the truck on our way down; I never thought... I never dreamed... I'm sorry."

Distracted from her own guilt by Tony's, Abby let go of Ziva to wrap both of her arms around Tony. "We both will. We'll bring him a steady stream of hot coffee and his favorite donuts..."

Tony gave a watery laugh. "I'll even pick the extra sprinkles off of it for him without complaining."

"And I'll listen to his jazz instead of my heavy metal and make you eat with chopsticks so he'll have something to laugh at, and..."

The other two distracted, Ziva slipped out to complete her next errand.

-NCIS-

In the quiet of his office, Leon Vance sat down with Timothy McGee's personnel file and made the call he never wanted to make. His next of kin were his parents, listed as George and Brenda McGee, currently living outside of Boston. The phone rang twice before a gruff voice answered.

~Hello?~

"Is this George McGee?"

~Yes, who's this?~

Vance took a deep breath. "Mr. McGee, I'm Director Vance from NCIS. I'm afraid that there's been a situation and your son is currently..."

"Don't have a son, Director Vance. Timmy made his choice and he chose his team over his family. Whatever has happened, you people will have to take care it yourselves."

George ranted for a few more minutes, but before Vance even had words to ask, he was speaking to a dial tone. He carefully laid the handset down, staring into space. Over the last few years he'd become close to all the agents working out of the Yard, but none more than Gibbs' team. Even his relationship with the brash DiNozzo had deepened into one of understanding, but none was as close to him as McGee. The young geek had been the first one Vance had taken into his confidence about his suspicions, the first one to ask if he and his family were settling into DC all right, the first to defend his teammates when Vance had privately debated reuniting the team.

He was still staring at his phone when his assistant came in and quietly closed the door behind her. "Director Vance, Tim McGee's sister is on the phone for you, line three."

He fumbled with the phone as he nodded to her. "Miss McGee? This is Director Vance."

~He's not dead, is he? Please tell me he's not dead.~

Vance could hear the tears in her voice. "We don't know yet, but I won't lie to you, Miss McGee, your brother's situation is very grim. He was working surveillance very high up on a mountain and the truck was not able to retrieve him before the weather turned. We have rescue teams standing by and the second there's the slightest break the rescue helicopter will be taking off." Pamela slipped a scrap of paper under his hand, giving Vance more details about McGee's sister. "Sarah, your brother would not want this to frighten you too much, are you at your parents' home right now?"

~I came home to talk to Daddy, he's being so stubborn about Tim.~

He'd thought he couldn't feel any worse about what was happening, but as Vance listened to what had driven the two men apart he realized how wrong he was.

-NCIS-

The branches and tarp would block a great deal of the light from outside, but it was still too dark when McGee woke. He checked the time, grateful he'd paid extra for the watch face that lit up. It was well past daybreak, so he climbed out of his warm nest to check outside. The snow had to be blowing sideways to be coming through the ventilation hole he'd left in the doorway. Knowing that no rescue would be coming anytime soon, Tim returned to his bed and wrapped the space blanket back around him. "This isn't funny anymore, guys. Come get me, come get me soon."